


Your Hand in Mine

by jazzjo



Series: AoS Amalie-verse [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-27 07:45:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2684846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzjo/pseuds/jazzjo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had gone in as the extraction team. To tie off all loose ends and to get any and all S.H.I.E.L.D personnel out of the facility once the mission had been completed. There had been no mention of a little girl, of an orphan who would at the first chance she had cling on to her newly dubbed ‘Mama’ and refuse to let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Pairing: Melinda May/Phil Coulson

Summary: They had gone in as the extraction team. To tie off all loose ends and to get any and all S.H.I.E.L.D personnel out of the facility once the mission had been completed. There had been no mention of a little girl, of an orphan who would at the first chance she had cling on to her newly dubbed ‘Mama’ and refuse to let go. 

 

* * *

 

Bodies lay scattered about the linoleum tiled floors of the facility, mainly agents of Hydra with a few of their own fallen in their midst. May had sorted a good number of the Hydra agents out while Phil had focused on evacuating everyone else, and now that there were no longer any more hostiles around, the uninjured were reentering the compound to carry their fallen comrades out to where the jet was waiting to take them back to base. 

 

May went from room to room of the research facility, her demeanour alert and on edge as she sought out any hostiles that may have escaped their notice previously. Equipment lay strewn around, abandoned the moment the conflict outside each room had evidently tipped in favour of S.H.I.E.L.D rather than Hydra. Broken glass was scattered around many of the floors, like the first snowflakes on a bare concrete pavement. 

 

The agents sent in had gotten what they had come in for, that was all that mattered. It mattered not that too many of the agents outside were whispering about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best extraction team coming in to save them all, but that they had lost three agents while they were in there. The injured who were shaking where they sat mattered; it mattered that Agent Harcourt and her team had accomplished what they had set out to do, and that the number of casualties had been minimised when their two people team had been sent in by Hill to get them out and to diffuse Hydra’s operation while they were at it. 

 

Each step was purposeful, silent as she stalked from doorway to doorway. The final room on the floor was before her and she could hear Coulson taking stock of every agent and civilian that was being loaded into the jet as she cleared the compound. 

 

Pushing the final door open she peered in, almost turning to shout to her partner that the compound was clear and they could move out when she saw a small thrashing movement coming from the corner of the room behind the door. Stepping in, May quickened her wide strides the moment she realised that the source of the motions was a small figure restrained to a bed. Her eyes met the burning steel blue of the young child’s, stretched wide open in panic and fear. 

 

“You’re alright, you’re safe,” One hand splayed itself warmly over the child’s abdomen, gently patting a steady rhythm as she kept her voice level, “We are not going to hurt you. We’re going to get you out of here, alright? But first you need to stop fighting. Can you do that for me?”

 

At the child’s gradual relaxation under the ministrations of her hand and words, and the subdued nod that had come thereafter, May used her free hand to undo the restraints that kept the child bound to the bed. Removing the makeshift gag that had been put over the child’s mouth, May gently checked the girl’s small frame for any obvious physical injuries before helping the child to sit up gingerly. 

 

“My name is Melinda, can you tell me yours?”

 

The child tipped her head to the right momentarily, a small shrug lifting her shoulders as she spoke hoarsely, “Twenty six.”

 

“They called you twenty six?” Melinda bent down such that she was eye to eye with the girl, “How old are you?”

 

“Small man said four.” The shrug repeated itself before the young girl put her arms around Melinda’s neck and wrapped her legs around her waist. 

 

Carrying the child out of the room, May felt the girl’s face nestle into the crook of her neck and her breathing even out. The hallway was paved with nothing but the bodies of Hydra agents at that point, and she was relieved that the child would not see this. Feeling Coulson’s gaze on her, May quickened her steady steps as they both approached the jet. He never spoke once they began to walk alongside each other, only unzipping and shrugging off the jacket of his tactical suit and placing it around the girl on May’s hip. Neither of them stopped until they were inside the jet, passing their agents with varying degrees of injury tending to each other until they could get back to headquarters and get them some proper medical attention. 

 

As Coulson went from agent to agent to check in on them, May carried the girl into the cockpit and handled pre-flight checks before setting the jet on course to bring them back to S.H.I.E.L.D HQ. All of a sudden the small frame in her arms began to writhe and trash as it had back in the facility, and pained whines began to emanate from between her pursed lips. May’s arms tightened around the child, holding her closer and rocking her lightly. As she began to hum, her left hand patted a soothing rhythm on the small of the girl’s back, willing her back into a peaceful sleep. She almost regretted leaving the cockpit door ajar now as the rumblings of the agents in the rest of the jet carried through the open door. 

 

The crinkled brow began to smooth itself out, and a hoarse “Mama” escaped the child’s lips before her breathing ceased its near-hysterical gasping and steadied. 

 

Footsteps padded into the cockpit, and just before the door could slide closed May muttered under her breath tersely, “Phillip Coulson if you value your life you had better not let that door even shut a little too hard.”

 

“You’re a natural with her, Mel,” He closed the door silently as he could and came over to sit in the copilot’s seat next to them both.

 

She shrugged, continuing to pat the young girl in her arms. Phil reached over and readjusted the jacket around the small frame before speaking again.

 

“What’s her name?” He leant forward on his knees as his voice quietly inquired, “Can’t be more than four or five years old, can she?”

 

“She’s four, according to her, and they called her ‘Twenty six’,” May’s voice was hushed as she replied, “I don’t even think she has parents.”

 

Reaching one hand up from the hold that she had on the child, May brushed a stray lock of dark hair back behind the girl’s ear. Steadying the girl against her torso, May pulled an extra hair elastic from around her wrist and weaved the thick dark strands into a loose french braid down most of the child’s back. 

 

“Hold her for a while,” May started to hand the child to Coulson while jostling her as little as possible, “I need to land the plane and I’m sure neither of us wants to explain to Fury how the jet crashed into HQ.”

 

The moment the child left Melinda’s arms and was settled into Coulson’s she began to fidget. May focused on turning autopilot off, then on manoeuvring the jet into the hangar of S.H.E.I.L.D Headquarters, her forehead furrowing as whimpers turned into whines. Phil tried his best to rock the girl and to calm her down amidst her cries and clamouring for the woman whose attention was teetering on the edge of being redirected from the signals coming from the ground of the hangar and the voice pouring through her headset. Once the wheels hit the ground and the jet slid into its prescribed lot in the hangar, Melinda turned to Coulson and received the antsy child. 

 

Adjusting the child on her hip, May rose and began to leave the cockpit as the agents filed out and to medical until the girl in her arms wrapped her arms around May’s neck and giggled “Mama”. 

 

If May had been a little less steady on her feet she would probably have tripped or dropped the child, but as she was she continued to walk out of the jet and through the hangar, ignoring the smirk that no doubt had a fixed place on Coulson’s face at this point. 

 

“Melinda, kid,” Her voice was steady as it could be, “My name is Melinda.”

 

“And I’m Phil, and we’re going to have to go see Hill and Fury now,” He caught up to the two of them, knowing better than to offer to take the girl. 

 

“Maria is going to have a field day,” May spoke directly to Coulson at this point, “But I think Fury might scare her a little.”

 

“I’ll go in first, Mel,” He spoke just as they reached the doors to the director’s office, “Tell him to ease off on his scary pirate persona.”

 

“Tell Maria to get Jemma Simmons up here. She’s probably the least intimidating of all the medical staff and I don’t want the girl to get startled,” May’s voice was crisp and matter of fact, the sentence ending just as the door shut behind Coulson.

 

By the time he came back around and held the door open for them, the girl in Melinda’s arms was alert and peering around at her new surroundings. She clung on tighter to Melinda as they approached the Director and Maria Hill, almost shrugging the jacket off until Coulson reached over and readjusted it. 

 

Once both agents had been debriefed on the technical parts of their extraction mission, a knock on the door signalled Doctor Jemma Simmons’ entrance. With a medical kit in hand she approached the group clustered around Fury’s desk, and stood off to the side as she awaited instructions. 

 

Melinda got the girl’s attention, facing her as she spoke softly, “Doctor Simmons is going to check you over, alright? She won’t hurt you, she’s just going to check if you’re hurt or sick.”

 

Once the girl in May’s arms had nodded hesitantly, Hill beckoned for the young doctor to approach the child. 

 

“Perhaps it might be best if you put her down, Agent May?” Jemma’s voice was not demanding, only awkwardly checking the situation at hand. 

 

“She won’t let go of May,” Coulson interjected, “Trust me, she nearly had a meltdown when May handed her over to me as she was landing the plane.”

 

Fury chuckled deeply and Hill jibed back that perhaps he was just bad with children as Jemma began to examine their newest charge. When Maria turned to May and asked her for the child’s name, May gave her the same answer she gave Coulson on the jet. 

 

“All of four years old and they just call her a number,” Hill shook her head as she muttered.

 

“Amalie, maybe?” Coulson piped up, “They called her twenty six we might as well go to the other end of the alphabet.”

 

“Naming aside, Phil, we do need to figure out what to do with her,” May cocked her head to the side as she spoke.

 

Fury smirked slightly as he regarded the two agents before him, “We cannot release Amalie from S.H.I.E.L.D custody until we can absolutely confirm what Hydra has been doing to her. Until then, she will be under your care. Both of you. I trust my best specialist and most senior field agent can handle a four year old for a while.”

 

“S.H.I.E.L.D will create cover stories for all three of you, fully functional for however long you may need them for. I’ll have them ready by the end of the day, so you can go if Doctor Simmons gives Amy the all clear,” Maria looked towards the doctor as she finished speaking, motioning for her to give her report.

 

“Well,” Her words were apprehensive, reserved as she spoke before her superior officers, “Physically she seems fine. There are injection marks from what probably were tests they were running on her. I took some blood to run a full blood panel to see if I can find out what, but otherwise she seems to be doing as well as any four year old.”

 

May nudged the girl lightly and she released her suction hold on the grape lollipop in her mouth momentarily, “Thank you Doctah Simms!” 

 

The three of them exited Fury’s office, Amalie still ensconced in Melinda’s arms while Phil held the door open for them. Maria led them to her own office adjacent to the Director’s, a place she really did not use very often since her work was more out in the field. Papers were neatly and precisely sorted, unlike the train wreck that was Fury’s desk, and the three adults sat around it as Hill pulled out a file of blank birth certificates and the like. 

“First things first let’s get the two of you married on paper,” Maria grinned, beginning to fill in a marriage certificate in royal blue with her measured cursive, “The question is if you want fake identities or to keep your actual names.”

 

“Mind being a Coulson, Mel?” 

 

“I’m keeping my name, just so you know,” She snarked right back at him, a lopsided smirk gracing her face. 

 

Hill completed the certificate, rolling it up and sliding it into a holder with a flourish, “No fake identities, then. Makes everything much easier anyhow. So, she’s Amalie Coulson now. Any middle name?”

 

The two agents met each other’s gaze, then both their eyes travelled over to Amalie’s face. Over the soft bridge of her nose that was barely there, the single eyelids and the almond eyes, her dark hair. 

 

“Mel, should we give her a Chinese name?” Coulson’s tone was cautionary, not entirely certain how May would react to the proposition.

 

She chuckled once, then replied, “I think my mother would shoot me if we didn’t.”

 

“So,” Maria started, “Are you going to call your mother to ask her or are you going to come up with one yourself.”  


“She’s pretty fond of you, why don’t you ask her?”

 

And so Maria did. She picked up the phone on her desk and dialled Mrs. May’s number with practiced ease. May fidgeted in her seat as the dial tone resounded throughout the office even though the phone was not on speaker. Amalie, as if sensing her unease, hugged Melinda tight and told “Mama” not be scared. 

 

“Hello classified number,” A voice crackled over the line, “Is this Maria or is this Phillip, because Qiaolian would be dead before calling me herself.”

 

“Both actually, Auntie May,” Maria responded, holding in a laugh.

 

“Spit out whatever it is you called to ask before it chokes you, Maria.”

 

Pressing the button that put the conversation on speaker, Maria glanced up furtively at Melinda before uttering her question, “Mels wants to ask you for a name for her daughter.”

 

“Maria Hill!” Melinda glared at her while harshly whispering, “There was a better way to word that.”  


 

“So my daughter is there. Maybe you could explain the situation, Qiaolian.” She could hear her mother’s grimace from a country away. 

 

Melinda sighed heavily, her lips parting in a half hearted answer before Phil cut in, “It’s classified, Mrs. May.”

 

“Phillip, I eat classified for breakfast as a side to my porridge,” The voice lowered, “I’ve seen more years of classified information than you have years of life. Declassify it.”

 

“We’re caring for a girl we found on a mission. As her parents,” Melinda’s answer was short, clipped as she pulled the now bare lollipop stick from Amalie’s hands. 

 

Lian May’s tutting could be heard all around the office before she halted it to continue speaking, “There is a lot to consider when choosing a name, Qiaolian. Your _waipo_ and _nainai_ spent weeks arguing over your name before they finally agreed on something.”

 

“Mama, please. Just a name,” Melinda spoke softer now, calmer, “I know you’ll choose something that means something.”

 

A pause, then the same crackling came over the line, “梅惠寧 (méi hùi níng), so that she may be benevolent and have peace. Goodness knows that as your daughter she will need both.”

 

“Thank you, Mrs. May,” Coulson sincerely spoke, his eyes falling to the agent beside him and the girl in her arms. 

 

“Phillip, I do expect to meet my granddaughter someday soon.”

 

“Good day, Mama. Stay healthy,” Melinda spoke quietly, pensive, before she reached over to Maria’s desk and hung up. 

 

Maria completed the documents that they needed to have, presenting them to Coulson before she assured them that everything had been entered into the federal and state system already. For all intents and purposes, Amalie Huining Coulson had been born on the 13th of March, 2010 to Phillip Coulson and Melinda Qiaolian May. For all intents and purposes this girl in Melinda’s arms was their daughter, and they were her parents. For the next two weeks or fourteen years, they did not know, but they were her parents. 

 

S.H.I.E.L.D. had set up a loft for the three of them, near enough to headquarters that it would be convenient for them, and in a safe enough neighbourhood that May would not take Fury’s head off for endangering the child. Maria gave them the go-ahead to leave headquarters for the day, and so they walked out of the building with a child and their new lives in tow. 

 

“Most interesting assignment we’ve had yet, huh, Mel?” Coulson nudged her lightly as they strode down the streets towards their new house.

 

“Perhaps,” She shrugged, lacing her fingers through his as she held Amalie with one arm and the girl peered around her like a hawk. She was not a mother, that much Melinda May knew. And yet she also knew that this was an assignment, that it was her job to make sure this girl was protected for as long as she could protect her. If what it took was to be her mother for a while, then May would not fight it. She had been undercover before. It would be the same, wouldn't it? 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay so apparently chapter one was well received (thank y'all so much it was so nice to wake up to those comments) so here's another chapter. Just a note (and apology) that even though the show itself has May and the other characters speaking Cantonese for the most part I'll be writing them in Mandarin Chinese because my Cantonese is horrible (I'm not Cantonese) and it'll be even more far fetched to write it in the dialect that I am familiar with. 
> 
> Here's some context for the story:  
> Timeline-wise, this happens pre-Bahrain. It will factor in later, slightly differently from how it is portrayed in the show. May and Coulson have been partners for a while because they're effective together. 
> 
> May trained Hill up until Fury took her under his wing to train her to be his second-in-command, so they're pretty close. Since Coulson and May have always been partners the three of them just ended up friends. Maria (in my head at least) doesn't have much family, so she spent quite a few thanksgivings and christmases with the Mays.

They had made three trips in total, one each to their individual apartments to grab their things, and one to the departmental store to get clothes for Amalie. 

 

Fury had truly utilised the many underlings he had at his disposal and corralled them all into preparing the loft and stocking it up with everything that they might need. The particular team of agents that he had put onto the job was actually the main team in charge of preparing for undercover work — May and Coulson had both worked with them a number of times — and the job was done by the time the three of them got there with everything. 

 

Coulson was hefting the last of his belongings from the elevator to the front door as May unlocked it, and just as they pushed the door open Amalie nearly lurched out of Melinda’s arms as she craned her neck around to look at their new house. 

 

Once they got through the door with everything they had left — which really was just Coulson’s two boxes of miscellaneous items like his Captain America paraphernalia that he had excitedly insisted on bringing along so that he could show them to Amalie — Melinda crouched down and set Amalie on the ground. 

 

“Do you want to explore, Huining?” Melinda spoke as she held on lightly to the girl’s waist. 

 

At Amalie’s apprehensive nods Melinda released her hold on the small frame and allowed her to wander about the childproofed loft. She and Phil carried the boxes they had stacked about the living room to the various places in the loft that they belonged to, setting Amalie’s clothes in one of the two smaller bedrooms that had already been equipped with a child’s bed. 

 

Taking quick, quiet strides, May brought her belongings over to the room adjacent to Amalie’s, depositing her duffel on the twin bed. 

 

Squealing rang down the corridor, and Melinda shot up from her seat on the bed in immediate response. Looking out through the corridor she felt her lips curve into a half smile as the squealing turned into giggling. Amalie was perched on the kitchen island, Phil standing in front of her and mercilessly tickling her. 

 

Approaching silently from behind Phil, Melinda signalled for Amalie to not alert him to her presence. With another two wide strides May found herself close enough to Phil to launch herself upwards to land precisely on his back, eliciting a squawk and momentary ceasefire. Amalie grabbed the opportunity to poke Phil thrice in the gut, making him squirm and nearly throw Melinda off his back before she properly placed her feet on the ground and slid off. 

 

May smirked as she held her hand up to Amalie for a high five, only to find the girl staring wide eyed and blankly at her. Phil stuck his tongue out at her as she showed Amalie how the motion worked, resulting in the child zealously battering May’s palm with her own repeatedly once she understood the action. 

 

“Mature, Phillip,” May moved around the kitchen island and began to check through drawers and cupboards, taking stock of the various items and utensils that were placed around the kitchen. 

 

“Likewise, Mel,” Coulson stuck his tongue out at her again before he held his arms out to Amalie, who hesitated for a moment before wrapping her arms around his neck and allowing him to swing her around in a circle, letting her legs hang free, “We have a little spider here, it seems. I finished putting her clothes into the dresser and walked out here to see her trying to clamber up the counter.”

 

Melinda began to pull a pot out of the cupboard under the stove, allowing herself to laugh at the child’s antics as she gathered ingredients for dinner. 

 

Coulson stopped spinning Amalie, bringing her around to where Melinda was and seating her on a blank space on the counter. Grabbing a chopping board and knife from the block and placing it on the other end of the counter from Amalie, he began to wash the vegetables already on the counter and deposit them on the chopping board. 

 

“Chicken soup?” He regarded May as she rifled through the refrigerator curiously.

 

“Close,” May grinned, pulling a block of tofu and a tray of sliced fish out of the fridge, “Fish soup. We have everything and it’ll go bad in a couple days otherwise.”

 

They set to work, Amalie sitting stock still as she stared captivated at Coulson chopping tomatoes and May slicing tofu. With everything prepared, Melinda set to the actually cooking as Phil washed the knives and chopping boards that they had used. 

Just as Melinda set the lid of the pot on and turned the burner down to let the soup simmer, Coulson’s cellphone began to ring from his back pocket. May pulled the cellphone out, answering quickly as he rinsed and wiped his hands clean of dishwashing liquid suds. 

 

“Maria’s on the line for you,” Melinda remarked before she placed the phone between his shoulder and ear and spun on her heel to approach the child on the kitchen counter, “Amalie Huining Coulson don’t you dare jump off the island.”

 

May swept the child off the countertop and set her on the ground, but Amalie pulled at her hands before she could move away to set the table. Kneeling down, Melinda allowed Amalie to perch herself on her back securely before she stood up, grabbing three placemats from a drawer then retrieving utensils — two pairs of chopsticks, two soup spoons and a child’s fork and spoon set — from the drawer underneath it. Once the utensils had been placed properly in their places about the table, Melinda spooned steamed rice into three bowls and set three more at each place for their soup and carried the pot of soup over to the table. 

 

Bending her knees steadily in a _ma-bu,_ May lowered herself enough to let Amalie reach the sink and wash her hands from her place on Melinda’s back. She nudged Coulson as they pass him, signalling to him that dinner was already on the table, and placed Amalie in her booster seat once they reached the table. May cut up the food in Amalie’s bowl before setting it in front of her while Coulson scooped soup for the both of them, the phone call drawing to an end. Once all three of them had been seated, Melinda glared meaningfully  at Coulson before he could begin to eat. 

 

“大家吃 (dà jiā chī),” Melinda remarks slowly, more for Amalie’s benefit than Phil’s.

 

Both Phil and Amalie clumsily repeat the phrase, Phil more clumsily than he should for the number of dinners both he and Maria have had with Melinda and Mrs. May. 

 

“Huining, we’re going to get to laugh at Phil’s abysmal attempt to use chopsticks on his tofu,” Melinda quipped, grinning as she sprinkled white pepper into her soup, “And see if he turns brown from the amount of soy sauce he drowns everything in.”

 

Amalie giggled animatedly, picking up rice with her bare hands and squashing a couple of grains between her fingertips. 

 

Coulson fumbled with the chopsticks before he gradually got the hang of picking things up, looking up from his food to speak to May, “We’re both getting new partners. Fury says that since Amalie is under S.H.I.E.L.D. custody now we cannot leave her with normal babysitters or the like so they’re going to try and ensure that either one of us is always here with her while the other is out on a mission. They’re making me a handler — Barton is a handful, apparently. They want you to train Romanoff, and probably do solo extractions.”

 

“At least you won’t be going out in the field as much anymore,” May drained her bowl before she continued, “One of us will be more or less out of harm’s way.”

 

Stabbing at the rice in his bowl with his chopsticks, Coulson mumbled, “The mission we were supposed to do next week, the one in Bahrain? Fury is making you go in alone.”

 

“We were just meant to be the welcoming party,” May sighed, stacking the empty dishes up, “There isn’t really much danger there. I’ll be fine on my own.”

 

Phil rose first, gathering the dirty dishes into the pot and carrying them to the sink. They cleaned up, the dishes washed — and dried by Amalie at her insistence to help — and the table wiped down. Once Amalie was given a bath May showed her her new room, promising that they would let her choose how to decorate it soon. 

 

She’d settled down to a restless sleep. 

 

While it was not quite the thrashing, nightmare fraught sleep that had previously plagued her, it was still tossing and turning and whimpering from time to time. For an hour the two agents sat by her bedside, taking turns to pat and soothe her when she began to fidget once more, humming lullabies that they themselves had not heard in decades and smoothing out the crinkles in her forehead. 

 

When the sleep that she had fallen into had finally been deemed restful enough for them to leave their positions at her bedside, Phil placed a featherlight kiss on her forehead as Melinda rubbed a thumb over Amalie’s forearm. A nightlight was switched on in the corner of her room, casting the silhouette of Captain America’s shield across the pale walls of the room. 

 

The lights were turned out, the door pulled shut save a small sliver of light that remained where it was left cracked open. 

 

There were no words to be said between them as Melinda ducked into the room next to Amalie’s and set herself down on the bed. Pushing dark strands back with a trembling hand she turned away from the door, legs pulled into a lotus position as she willed tears away. 

 

She had known no whole childhood, wholesome or otherwise. 

 

Her mother had spent the better part of her adulthood being a CIA agent with not enough time for the tasks on her plate, let alone raising a child who never seemed to excel in what she was meant to do well in. 

 

Her father had been a nightmare that pushed Melinda to learn to defend herself, to fight to have a right to live and breathe. 

 

Nannies had been superfluous, given her schedule, and various classes in music and dance and sports had brought Melinda up more than the people who had been around her during her childhood. The closest to a nurturing mother that Melinda had ever had was her _waipo_ , who had passed too early in Melinda’s childhood to be more than a fuzzy memory of that wordless lullaby. 

 

How could she take care of a child like this?

 

Every breath mapped out the scars of her growing years. Every hitch in her breath another nick or break in her ribs, every twinge of a muscle an old sprain or bruise. She had learned too early on that crying did her no good. It made her seem weak, it blurred her vision and it let whoever it was who caused the tears relish in the fact that they had hurt her enough to overwhelm her. 

 

As much as Melinda could staunch the flow of the tears before they even started, she had never learned to stop the shaking that came with the feeling. 

 

It was soundless, quick silent breaths sneaking in and out of her mouth instead of her nose so that no whimpering or sniffling came out, but it was tactile. She could feel every muscle trembling and every joint rattling as she forced her failures back into herself. 

 

She almost felt bad, really, knowing that there was a child who so badly needed to be taken care of, who deserved good parents and a safe home. 

 

Melinda May was a specialist — someone you sent in to diffuse situations which had already gotten out of hand — not someone you put into the task of ensuring nothing went out of hand. 

 

Curling in on herself, Melinda willed the loft to succumb to stillness entirely. For the hallways to empty and for it to become safe for her to feel and fear and deal with it herself without fearing someone seeing her fall apart. 

 

Shuffling footsteps approached her, and she tightened the human ball she made out of her body, shying away from whoever it might be. 

 

“Come on, Mel,” Phil’s voice was warm, wary almost as he reached for her shoulder and lay a reassuring palm on it, “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

 

He brought a washcloth over to her, wet with water just a few degrees from hot. Guiding her hands he placed the washcloth in them and turned to her bag — the one he had been all too familiarly acquainted with for all the missions they had been on — to withdraw her nightshirt and old shorts from the Academy. 

 

The clothes were set on the bed next to her and she rose gingerly to move to the bathroom to get changed. 

 

He was in that same old Captain America tee shirt and sweatpants, she realised. 

 

When she stepped out of the bathroom, more composed and more put together than she had been five minutes prior to that, she smirked at him wryly as she regarded him standing in the corner of the room shifting his weight between both feet. 

 

“That shirt,” Melinda quipped, “It has to be older than Amalie, much older.”

 

With three long strides he was in front of her, his broad shoulders opened and warm arms wrapped around her in an embrace that had held her together many times through the years. 

 

“Goodnight, Mel,” Placing a kiss on her forehead he softly spoke, “You know where I am if you need anything.”

 

“Likewise, Phillip,” The words came out choppy, just two words that were teetering on the line between whole and breaking all over again. 

 

His sock clad feet padded back out of the room, shutting the door behind him but leaving it minutely cracked just as she did the door of Amalie’s room. 

 

She just had to hold it together for a while longer. The medical team at S.H.I.E.L.D. would clear Amalie and there would be better ways for her to be brought up than by Melinda May. 

 

In the master bedroom Phil Coulson leant against the door as he attempted to come to terms with all that was going on. He had been somewhat fearful of them messing up, but the fact was that May was good enough with Amalie for the both of them. He only feared that she would not be able to deal with it. Even in the Academy she had been detached even though she was warm. Pranks were her thing, and caring for others in passing, casually. Even when she had been training Maria Hill it was more of a sisterly bantering than a teacher guiding. 

 

Maybe this would be good for all of them. Goodness knows he needed the training for when he had to deal with Clint “Hawkeye” Barton every day for what seemed like an indefinite amount of time. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Jemma Simmons had become a frequent visitor to the Coulson loft, coming by every day for the first week Melinda and Phil had Amalie.  

 

She and May had convinced Director Fury that it really was not a) necessary and b) safe for Amalie to constantly be entering and leaving the Triskelion. Besides, it was far easier to coax the girl into the various procedures that had to be undertaken to check her health and status as somewhat of a 0-8-4 when the only people around her were the people she felt comfortable with. 

 

The security personnel now knew better than to stop the baby-faced doctor on her way up to the loft — Coulson had established that she was his niece, and that she came by often to see her cousin. 

 

She would sit with Amalie in the living room, Coulson occupying her with blocks or a book as Jemma did the various tests, before Jemma would run a few S.H.I.E.L.D. standard intelligence and ability tests on her as they played games. 

 

Coulson had left them be in the living room, since the past few days had instilled the trust of the young English scientist in him. Amalie barely looked up from the pictures that she had laid out in front of her as Phil stepped into his bedroom to answer a phone call that sounded all too boring for her to bother paying much attention to, only mumbling a brief ‘bye bye daddy’ in his general direction. 

 

Pushing the pictures around in a new order Amalie tilted her head up to gaze at Jemma.

 

“All done, Jem!” Tugging at the locket around Jemma’s neck, Amalie’s excited exclamation turned into a shrill short shriek as the locket popped open.

 

Taking a moment to register the new movement, Amalie reached one small hand out and grasped the metallic charm, analysing it intently.

 

“Who’s that in the pho’graph, Jem?” She didn’t prod the surface of the locket like she did most things, letting go of the locket and letting it bounce back against Jemma’s sternum. 

 

Reaching up to press the locket shut, Jemma’s lips curved into a small half smile as she spoke, “A best friend from a couple of years ago, when I first came to the States. She moved away, and this is the most important thing I have left of her.”

 

“She’s pretty,” Amalie mumbled, her attention turning back to the squeeze balls that sat beside Jemma. 

 

Jemma sighed lightly, passing one of the stiffer balls over to Amalie, “That she is, love. That she is.”

 

Taking out the manila folder that was gradually thickening as they gathered more understanding on Amalie, Jemma placed in another sheet of paper from her yellow legal pad and pulled the pencil from behind her ear to begin to log the results from that day’s tests. 

 

“You’re a lucky kid, Amy,” Jemma muttered under her breath as she wrote, knowing the girl to be engrossed in the toy, “She wasn’t quite as lucky with who took care of her when she was found.”

 

Coulson stepped back into the room, a smile forming on his face when he saw the scrunched up features of the young girl who sat, leaning her head on Jemma’s arm, squashing a pastel green ball between her hands with as much strength as she could muster. 

 

“Fury keeps plying me with girls,” He chuckled wryly at his own wording of the fact, “A new recruit — some hacker convert from The Rising Tide — about your age, in fact, for me to train. You kids sure start young, don’t you. You’re what, about twenty?”

 

Glancing up at him from the folder acquiesced on her folded knees, Simmons replied crisply, “Eighteen, Agent Coulson.”  

 

He shook his head minutely, a smile wrought with chagrin appearing as he took a seat on the ground opposite the two girls. 

 

“How is she?” Phil grunted slightly as he shifted in his place on the floor, leaning forward to peer at the cursive that was positioned upside down in relation to his eyesight, “Have you guys found anything peculiar out yet?”

 

“Developmentally she is ahead based on intellect and strength. The latter comes in sporadic spurts which would be dangerous for non-S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel to deal with. Physically she is small, but in the normal range all the same,” Jemma turned to look at the girl who so contentedly played all on her own, “She probably hasn’t had much contact with other children, but that is something that can be amended at her young age.”

 

“Still no idea how long this mission will take, then,” Phil looked at his own feet, cracking each knuckle one at a time.

 

“Not just yet, sir,” Jemma tried not to let any sort of emotion colour those four words. 

 

She did not know how she felt about this entire ordeal. Amalie was in good hands for now — she had seen both agents with her, and they took great care of a child they had no actual obligation towards — and Jemma had seen what happened when children were placed in the hands of those who did not care enough for them. 

 

Before she could ponder more on the matter, the bolt on the front door of the loft clicked as it was released, and the door swished open in the same amount of time it took for Amalie to spring to her feet. 

 

Taking off in a comfortable run — one that had developed pretty quickly from their second day onwards in the loft — Amalie reached the door only a few seconds after May stepped through and shut the door. Immediately she threw herself at May’s legs, demanding to be lifted up. 

 

May did just that, placing the girl on her hip and stepping towards the living area of the loft. 

 

“Good evening, Huining,” She placed a soft kiss on the loose braid in the girl’s hair, then turned to the others in the loft, “Doctor Simmons, Coulson. Jemma, do you want to stay for dinner?”

 

“Oh no, Agent May, I could not possibly impose on you in such a way,” Jemma immediately began to pull her belongings together, returning them to the messenger bag that passed off inconspicuously enough as her medical kit for these visits. 

 

“Nonsense, Jemma, May cooks enough to feed an army if she so wishes and I can’t stand setting the table for only three people anyway,” Coulson raises his eyebrows and tips his head in the direction of the girl perched on the kitchen counter at this point, “Besides, Amalie would want you to stay, right ‘Mal?”

 

The child in question nodded fervently, nearly tipping herself off the counter in the process, “Stay, Jem!”

 

She shrugged her slight shoulders, feeling the sweater she was wearing shift against her clavicle, “Alright then. Thank you, Agent May.”

 

“Melinda, please,” The sound of sizzling oil in a wok interrupted before Jemma heard the second half of the reply, “Just a warning, though, that if Phil ever invites you for dinner while I’m on a mission, you run. You run so far.”

 

“Oh come on, Mel,” Coulson rolled his eyes, his tone incredulous, “It was one time!”

 

“It was one time that he set my mother’s kitchen on fire trying to make eggs of all things and the CIA turned up because they thought their deputy director’s house was burning down,” She punctuated the statement with a dramatic swish of the wok and its contents, “Hill and I spent the next two hours trying to convince them that no, no one was dying and no one was trying to kill Lian May.”

 

Jemma chuckled, rising and moving over to the stove where Melinda was already dishing up one of the parts of dinner. 

 

“You can get three coasters from the first drawer, Coulson will do the rest,” Melinda gestured towards the series of drawers along the wall of the kitchen. 

 

Scurrying over to the drawers, Jemma extracted three coasters and set them to one side of the rectangular table, evidently too large for only three people. 

 

Melinda brought two dishes over, setting them each on the coasters at the sides, then doubled back for a pot. Amalie, to her credit, brought over three bowls of rice and set them on the table. 

 

“Daddy!” The four year old spun around on her heel and planted both hands on her hips as she snapped playfully, “Everything is on the table except your part.”

 

“Coming, coming,” Coulson groaned, “The old man is coming please have some patience your highness. I  doth begeth for your forgiveness, your grace.”

 

“Sit with me, Jem!” Amalie pitched all of her four year old weight forward to pull Jemma with her towards the two seats adjacent to one another on one side of the table. Jemma complied, seating herself where Amalie had pointed and beginning to help the child gather food into her bowl and cutting it into smaller pieces with the pair of scissors that May handed her. 

 

May uncovered the pot in the middle of the table, turning to Jemma as she placed the lid in the sink, “Chopsticks or a fork and spoon, Simmons?”  


 

“Chopsticks are fine, thank you Melinda.” 

 

She heard Coulson chuckle deeply, murmuring something about not being the worst at chopsticks any longer. He would see. 

 

And he did. 

 

Halfway through the meal of ginger pork, stir fried mixed vegetables and winter melon soup Coulson finally snapped out of his disbelieving gaping and cracked, asking her how she knew how to use chopsticks so well as he fumbled with picking up broccoli from the dish in the centre of where they were sitting. 

 

“I had a friend when I first moved here to go to the Academy,” Jemma lifted a hand to the locket around her neck absentmindedly, “She was half Chinese and her foster father at the time had a Japanese housekeeper. We ended up eating a lot of meals together and the housekeeper taught us both how to use chopsticks properly.”

 

Conversation was comfortable as they ate, and for the first time since she had become aware of the coldness that seeped into her life at every turn and into every crevice she felt warm from just a small bit of interaction. Fitz was nice, sure, but he was just about as awkward as she was. Her parents had never wanted her to grow into being fragile, knowing that with her brain she would be bullied and teased, so they never really coddled her. 

 

This was warmth she had known only barely. 

 

Nearing the end of the meal Amalie chirped from her seat next to Simmons, “Can we go to the playground tomorrow, Mama?”

 

“You can go with your dad, or maybe you could even ask Jemma if she would take you after your checkup tomorrow, Huining,” Melinda stacked the empty dishes in front of her precisely as she continued, “I’ll be going on a mission tomorrow, remember? We told you that I have to fly to Bahrain to fetch someone for Uncle Fury, but I’ll be back by the day after tomorrow and I can spend time with you then.”

 

“Okay!” Amalie went right back to her food, finishing up the last scraps of pork and carrot left in her bowl, sated with the agreement that she could go to the playground the next day. 

 

Jemma stacked her own dishes up, rising in her seat to move to bring the dishes to the sink as she spoke, “Thank you for dinner, Melinda. I’ll be by tomorrow to check in on little Amalie here, and I could probably bring her to the playground as well. It will be great to see how she acts with other children.”

 

“Thank you Jemma,” Coulson cut in, “Leave the dishes, that’s my job. Lest the young miss here call me out on slacking off again.”

 

Jemma picked her messenger bag up off the living room floor, heading back around to the dining room to high five Amalie — who was incredibly proud of her newly learnt skill — and promise to see her tomorrow, before heading out and hearing Melinda shut the door behind her with a warm goodbye. 

 

Bolting the door behind Simmons, May headed back towards the dining room, going through the motions of their post-dinner routine as they had done for all the previous evenings. 

 

By the time that Amalie had settled in to sleep with two lullabies and the assurance that May would say goodbye before she left for “Ball Rain” the next morning, Phil guided his weary partner back out into the hallway with a broad hand ghosting across the small of her back. 

 

“Mel, you’re my best friend, but-” He paused outside her door, reconsidering his words for a moment, “Just- just be careful while you’re in Bahrain. It’s weird for me not to be there to watch your back, so come back safe, alright? Goodnight Mel, see you in the morning.”

 

With that the both of them retreated into their separate rooms, May putting together her go bag for the next day and Phil tossing and turning as he contemplated the changes in his duties at S.H.I.E.L.D. 

 

As he tried to drift off to sleep, he began to count — instead of sheep — the few missions that either of them had gone on over the years without the other. With another one to add. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New characters are coming in, and Jemma is one of my favourites so special early appearances for her. She mentioned being the youngest in her class, so I'm trying to keep to that, but I'm having to fudge with ages a little to make this make sense in my head. If there are any suggestions to make this story better please do tell :) I hope you enjoyed what's been posted so far. Thank you for all the great responses; they've really made me extremely happy.


	4. Chapter 4

The loft was silent when she woke. 

 

Melinda relished in it; relished in knowing that her usual five a.m. waking always afforded her with an hour for tai chi before noise would materialise in the form of a four year old. Putting on her workout clothing, Melinda padded out to the living area of the loft to begin her morning regimen. 

 

Before she really started anything, May first entered the kitchen to turn the coffee pot on — she didn’t drink it, but the smell alone would wake Coulson up without her having to go to the master bedroom to drag him out of bed. 

 

Halfway through the long form that she had been working on for the past few weeks she heard pattering footsteps come from the hallway and stop a little ways behind her. 

 

She did not stop her flowing movements, each step and each bend still steady with the same measure and intent as they were before the interruption. What she did not expect was for the footsteps behind her to turn into the sound of bare feet shakily stepping on the ground in step with her own, or for minute squeaks to occasionally break through her focus. 

 

The exercise concluded itself just before the end of her prescribed hour, and Melinda turned around on the ball of her foot to face the munchkin behind her, still clad in her pyjamas. 

 

“ _早安_ (zăo ān), Huining,” May bent down before Amalie and hugged her briefly, “You’re up early today.”

 

“‘Cos you said you’re leavin’ in the morning,” Amalie remarked, her voice small, “I didn’t wanna miss you. Were you dancing, Mama?”

 

Melinda let a laugh bubble up from her chest, letting her hand touch Amalie’s cheek affectionately as she replied, “That was tai chi, ‘Ning, it’s a martial art.”

 

“Can I learn?” She was bouncing in her place now, her blue eyes bright and earnest.

 

Ruffling the girl’s hair, May smiled, “Maybe when I come back from this mission.” 

 

May got up from her squat, moving towards the small box on the coffee table that held all of Amalie’s hair accessories. Handing a brush to her, Melinda allowed Amalie to brush her own hair out before she tied it back for her. 

 

Another one hour and she would be piloting a S.H.I.E.L.D jet to Manama, Bahrain, and she would be back by the next morning if all went well. Thankfully their jets — and Melinda May’s piloting — would make the fourteen hour commercial airline flight all of five hours. She would meet with this new Gifted that S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted to put on their index. Nothing she hadn’t done before. 

 

“The only gripe you have with this entire op is the fact that you’re going to have to file a report, isn’t it?” Coulson’s mirth filled voice carried down the hallway as he exited his room, heading into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. 

 

“Shut up,” May shot back at him, turning to go to her room and prepare for the mission ahead, “Don’t burn anything while I’m in the shower, please.”

 

Amalie shot towards Coulson with a speed that astounded May as she shut the door behind her. 

 

Catching him around the legs, the young girl squealed at Phil lifted her up and spun her around, before stopping and placing her on the kitchen counter. 

 

“So, little lady,” He bopped her nose gently in a dramatic pause, “What will it be today?”

 

Amalie tilted her head to one side, scrunching her eyebrows together and wrinkling her nose as she pondered on the possibilities. 

 

 

Meanwhile, Phil set out to cook one of the few things he could cook without burning the loft down — eggs scrambled with cheese, peppers, Virginia ham and spinach — which they used to eat together before big tests or evaluations in the Academy and their early missions together. 

 

He ran through his own schedule for the day in his head — he was meant to meet with his new trainee, Skye, when Simmons brought Amalie to the playground in the morning, then check in on Agent Barton’s latest mission in Russia. He had to make sure all the paperwork for Clint’s change of plans was done and handed in properly lest the Council used it as a reason to get rid of Romanoff. 

 

“Cheer’os!” The chirp of the little girl seated on the counter snapped him back into the present, making him turn the burner off and remove the eggs — thankfully unburnt — from the heat and dishing them up into two plates before turning to pour Amalie a bowl of Cheerios with a side of sliced apples. 

 

Placing all three meals on the kitchen island, he lifted Amalie up onto a bar stool and poured her a glass of juice, setting the plastic cup in front of her. 

 

Coffee had stopped dripping from the machine into the clear pot beneath it. Setting a teabag of green tea into a mug with hot water for it to steep, he poured himself a mug of coffee and added sugar to it, stirring lightly before he brought both mugs to the plates beside Amalie. 

 

“You didn’t burn anything down,” May exclaimed, stepping out of her room in her tactical suit with a small duffel in hand, “Thank goodness for that.” 

 

She walked over to the kitchen island, sitting down where the tea was and scarfing down the food on her plate. 

 

“I should be back by really late tonight, or tomorrow morning at the very latest,” She remarked in passing to Coulson as she picked her empty plate and mug up, bringing them to the sink and washing them, “If there’s anything remarkably wrong you should probably either call Maria or my mother.”

 

Phil stood from his seat at the kitchen island, stepping over to where Melinda was and standing behind her with one hand on her shoulder as he spoke, “Be careful, okay?”

 

“It’s just in and out, Phillip, it’ll be fine,” May sighed, placing the dishes on the drying rack next to the sink.

 

He shook his head at her words, his voice only slightly subdued, “We’ll see you when you come back from Manama then.”

 

“Goodb-” She started, before he cut her off halfway through the word.

 

“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?” He chuckled wryly as she turned around to face him, “No goodbyes. _À demain_ , Mel.”

 

For a moment there he contemplated closing the distance between them. His steel blue eyes flickered brightly as they glanced down at her lips ever so briefly, before they snapped back up and refocused on her warm brown ones as the light danced in them and she spoke again. 

 

_When she came back. He would tell her when she came back from Manama. They had time, after all, all the time in the world and nothing to stand in their way._

 

“ _Bis morgen_ , Phil,” Ruffling his sparse brown hair, she stepped away from him and went over to Amalie where she sat finishing her apple, “再見 (zài jiàn), Huining.”

 

Dropping a kiss on the crown of Amalie’s head, Melinda grabbed her duffel from where she had dropped it next to the bar stool and headed out the door, closing it solidly behind her. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jemma had swung by, first staying to run the clinical part of the tests that had to be administered on Amalie before they could head out to the playground. Coulson had handed her a set of keys to the loft, and she had grinned at the trust that she was gifted with, promising to keep her cell phone switched on just in case of any emergencies. 

 

Shrugging on a dark jacket over his pressed shirt and tie, Coulson made his way out of the loft and towards the Triskelion, making it through the doors and security checks right when he was already meant to be in Fury’s office. Jabbing at the buttons for the elevator, he sighed thankfully when the metal doors slid open almost immediately. 

 

The doors slid open to reveal Maria Hill already standing there waiting to take him into the director’s office. 

 

“Morning, Maria,” Phil greeted her jovially, “How goes being Fury’s right hand?”

 

“Can’t be on time without Mel with you, can you?” Hill nudged his shoulder slightly, cracking a small smile, “It’s about as easy as being his left hand, so I’m supposing you’ll know how it feels soon enough.” 

 

A gruff clearing of a throat could be heard from behind the cracked door, and Coulson swiftly took the hint and ducked in.

 

“I’m letting this go once, Agent Coulson,” Fury levelled him with a glare somewhere between amused and annoyed, “Seeing as your better half is flying a jet to Bahrain and Doctor Simmons was detained in this office for a little too long just now.”

 

Coulson cracked half a smile, averting his gaze to the girl who sat in the chair opposite Director Fury with a wide smirk on her face, “Yes, Sir.”

 

“Now, Coulson,” The director nudged his chin in the general direction of the girl in the chair, “This is Skye. Hacker from The Rising Tide, overall pain in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s ass. We’re hoping to use her skills for us, instead of against us for now. You’ll be training her.”

 

Fury gestured nonchalantly to the door, and Coulson exited the office, Skye in tow. 

 

“So, AC,” Skye teased, “What did you do to get stuck on babysitting the new pain in the ass?”

 

Coulson strode towards his desk, where Barton had his feet propped up.

 

“I got stuck with more than one pain in the ass, apparently,” Coming to a stop beside his desk, Phil addressed Barton next, “Feet off my desk, Hawkeye. Do up the incident report and hand it in to Deputy Director Hill by the end of today, got it?”

 

“Well, if my name isn’t Yasir Yasir Threebagsfull,” Clint snarked back, “I will. Stop wigging out, man, you’re going to actually go bald.”

 

Phil resisted the urge to smack Barton upside the head, bringing Skye towards the elevator. 

 

“What’s your story, kid?” 

 

“Eyepatch there said it already — hacker extraordinaire,” She winked, before dampening the brightness in her voice and continuing, “But the orphanage I kept going back to told me to come here when I aged out. Apparently S.H.I.E.L.D. has been watching out for me my whole life.”

 

She toyed with the locket around her neck as they got on the elevator and descended to the ground floor of the Triskelion. 

 

“Where are we going?” 

 

Coulson tipped his head to the side, regarding her for a moment before he spoke, “My partner and I have a very peculiar mission now, and it’ll be good for you to see the kind of strange assignments you may be put on as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.”

 

They reached the playground, and just as Skye saw Coulson pick up a flurry of dark haired, blue eyed little girl as it came hurtling towards them, she stiffened when she heard a phrase she hadn’t heard in a while.

 

“Mary Sue Poots, as I live and breathe,” The accent was crisp, the voice familiar, “Amalie Coulson where in the world do you think you’re going? Agent Coulson will have me demoted if you get hurt.”

 

“It’s fine, Jemma,” Coulson grinned at the young doctor with Amalie in his arms, “Who the heck is Mary Sue Poots?”

 

Skye sheepishly grimaced for a moment, raising her hand halfway, “Uhh, me. I didn’t have a name when I got to the orphanage so that’s just what they called me. When I aged out I decided it was a really dumb name — who names a kid Mary Sue, seriously — so I chose Skye.”

 

She turned to face the voice, taking in the grown form of her best friend she had lost contact with a couple of years ago.

 

“Jemma Simmons?” Reaching one hand out she grasped the locket around the other girl’s neck, fumbling with her own with the other, “What are you doing here?”

 

Jemma pulled the slightly taller girl into a hug, speaking lowly but excitedly, “Same reason as you, apparently — S.H.I.E.L.D.”

 

The three of them sat on a park bench, Jemma observing Amalie and scratching down notes in that manila folder from time to time. Skye assaulted Coulson with a thousand and one questions about being an agent, all the while having her hand intertwined with Jemma’s between the two of them. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

He had put Amalie to bed, leaving the door cracked and the nightlight on after he had read her a story. Retreating into his own room he sat on the carpet and rifled through his keepsake box. 

 

Once his hand met cold metal, he pulled the object out with its chain. 

 

Running his fingers over the engraved letters, he clenched his other fist, resisting the urge to just call Maria Hill up now to check on the status of the mission. 

 

_“We have no choice. So we fight -- and we win. There are no other options._ ” 

 

Melinda had gifted that small engraved dog tag when he went on the first mission he had without her, a quote from Steve Rogers that she knew meant the world to him. Lifting the chain over his head and letting the cool metal hit his chest, Phil’s hands went to the tag itself and brought it up to his lips. 

 

He would not sleep tonight, he knew that much. It would be impossible to get to sleep when he was wondering when she would return from Manama. 

 

This happened every time either of them went on a mission without the other — the other person would stay up and wait for them to return, to patch them up if necessary and to just talk. It had helped, especially with the more gruesome assignments earlier on in their S.H.I.E.L.D. careers. 

 

Rising, he stepped over to the bookshelf that he had filled with his various books and comics, grasping a worn Captain America comic and heading outside to the couch in the living area. 

 

He would wait up for her, since knowing Melinda May she would have the mission complete in a shorter time than HQ had given her to do it anyhow. 

 

They would probably not have much to talk about, for the mission at least. It was uneventful simply due to its nature, that it was only an in and out, write a report and turn it in sort of job. 

 

She would talk about how annoying the S.H.I.E.L.D. junior agents who had to come back on her jet would have been on the flight back, about how a couple of days away from HQ on a babysitting job would have left them whiny and bored. 

 

He would tell her about his new trainee, about how she and Jemma had been friends and wasn’t it great that the quiet British scientist would have company other than Leopold Fitz for once. How Barton was a slob and reminded him just a little too much of her in her Academy days, back when she was just slightly more volatile and prone to pranks than she was now. 

 

Coulson reclined on the sofa and flipped through the well-thumbed, yellowing thin pages of the first Captain America comic he had ever had. Keeping his ears alert for the sound of the bolt of the front door, Phil Coulson let himself be immersed in every panel and every line that had long ago been committed to memory. 

 

He’d show the comics he had to Amalie someday soon, even though May would probably throw a shoe at him for that. 

 

All things considered, this assignment was going pretty well. He actually was starting to like it, if he was to be completely honest. Something about the safety and normalcy had been missing from their lives for too long. 


	5. Chapter 5

Two days. Two days of absolute radio silence since the junior agents who had been stationed there had flown back on the jet led by Agent Ward, some Level Four kid who was well on his way to becoming a specialist, but made a call Phil could only describe as wrong.

 

Maria had volunteered to go in herself, leading a small team including both Clint and Romanoff. Phil had been understandably worried — Melinda May never needed an extraction team. She _was_ the extraction team. 

 

For two days Amalie had been fretting and worried, her nightmares resurfacing. Phil had barely gotten any sleep from his place next to her bed, reassuring her that May would be back soon, just a little later than previously expected. 

 

_He should not have let her go in alone._

 

Phil paced the length of Fury’s office while the updates from Deputy Director Hill were being fed directly into a monitor in the Director’s office. 

 

_He should have asked someone to go in with her_. 

 

They had plenty of agents at their disposal. There were a couple more level seven agents who could be spared, or they could even have sent in Natasha Romanoff. Even if she was new to the agency, she was effective. That was a fact that could have saved them the past two days. 

 

Amalie was back at the loft with Jemma and Skye, the former doing the daily tests that needed to be done while the latter was “supervising the asset”. 

 

Coulson was not sure he could continue the assignment much longer on his own. Amalie would not stop asking for May and his ability to create meals that their young charge could eat without fear of food poisoning only went so far. 

 

After all, in spite of all that had already changed, she was his partner. Melinda May was his partner and there was no way he could do this without her. 

 

His pacing stopped starkly when Hill’s voice came over the intercom once more after a period of silence. 

 

They’d found her. She had walked out of the facility on her own, mostly uninjured ( _physically_ , Phil had added). They had not lost any agents in there, there were no casualties. The team was flying back now, and Agent Romanoff was helping May with dressing her minor injuries. 

 

_She hasn’t said a word_. 

 

Hill had sounded worried, concerned over May’s silence. He tried to convince himself for a brief collection of moments that it was characteristic of Melinda May to be quiet after a mission. 

 

That was a hallmark of her personality, after all, her withdrawn nature. She was a woman of few words. 

 

This was different, though. Phil knew that much. From the chatter he had heard from the agents who had returned from the compound in Manama, there had been quite a fight in there from the very beginning. 

  
_And they hadn’t seen the half of it._

 

It was typical Melinda May, really, to get everyone out of there before the real danger began. To face it down alone no matter how big the threat. No wonder he had overheard quite a few of those agents calling her “The Cavalry”.  

 

When he first heard that new nickname he had wanted to scoff. He had wanted to laugh heartily at the new name that Mel would no doubt roll her eyes at and brush of whatever it was that she had done for them to have coined such a title for her. 

 

Now he didn’t know what he should do. Part of him — the hotheaded, immature, fresh out of the Academy Phil Coulson that once knew Melinda May — wanted to march out there to the expanse of the Triskelion and yell at each and every one of the junior agents who dared use such a nickname to make light of what sacrifices May always made when she went into an extraction alone. Another part — the part that had always been impressed by Mel, almost in awe of her all through the years they had trained together and later, worked together — had wanted to join them. To honour her in the most banal of ways. 

 

Maria Hill had revealed over the intercom that May had gone back in for a civilian girl, one who was four years old. All Phil could think about was that the fact that the girl would in all likelihood have reminded Melinda of Amalie would have pushed her even harder to make sure she fought tooth and nail to get the girl out of the compound safely. 

 

All he could think about was the fact that Melinda May never gave up, no matter how much damage she had to cause to either the enemy or herself. 

 

Melinda May never thought that she was under any circumstance giving too much, sacrificing too generously or forsaking herself too easily. It was just who she was. It was one of the reasons why she was the best, even better at taking enemy forces out than even the infamous Natalia Alianovna Romanova. 

 

Across the intercom Maria had announced that they had landed. That Agent May was heading directly towards the Director’s office for a swift debrief. 

 

_Level Nine_ , they had told him, shutting the door right in his face. One level of security clearance kept him away from being with his partner while she was being debriefed. One level of security clearance that kept him away from her even after he had taken only a cursory glance at her walking past him, and he had known immediately that the last thing he could bear to let her be was alone. 

 

He stood outside the door to Fury’s office, pacing back and forth. His hand found its way into his back pocket, pulling out his phone and dialling Lian May’s private cellphone line immediately. 

 

Hearing his voice over the phone line, she had immediately asked if something had gone wrong. He told her as much as he could have — that Melinda had gone on a mission alone that had gone slightly awry, but that she was back already — and she had made him assure her that he would do everything in his power to help her if she needed it.

 

_My Qiaolian_ , she had murmured lowly, as if Melinda could hear her, _my daughter has always been too stubborn for her own good. She will fight, but at the end of it all she does need someone to fight for her. Fight for her, Phillip._

 

Maria had exited the office first, revealing to Phil in hushed voices that Melinda had refused medical attention, and that the Black Widow had been the only one she had spoken to on the entire flight back. Even then words exchanged had been few and far between. 

 

_Talk to her, you’re the only one who can get through the walls of steel that are pretty swiftly going up._

 

When May had exited the office, letting the door swing mutely shut behind her, he had fallen into step beside her almost instantaneously. They’d walked like that, side by side silently, until they both reached the exit, stepping out of the Triskelion and onto the buzzing streets. 

 

“Jemma and Skye are watching Amalie,” He began cautiously, keeping his voice as close to normal as he could, “Do you want to go back to the loft or to one of our apartments?”

 

“Mine.”

 

She kept walking, heading south of the park instead of the west of it as she would if they were walking to either his apartment or the loft. 

 

“Do you want to talk about anything that happened there?” Phil kept his tone light, pushing as little as possible but just enough that she would actually consider answering him instead of simply ignoring the question’s existence.

 

Raising a hand to her hair, she pushed the dark heavy strands back and sighed audibly as they fell back into a new formation, “The Gifted was a four year old child.”

 

Before he could probe further, May had suddenly stopped in her tracks and spun around, walking back in the direction that they had come in and heading northwest past the park. 

 

As they strode briskly back towards the loft in tandem Melinda had broken the silence once more, her voice raspy and nearly nonexistent as she revealed more about the mission that he had been meant to go on with her.

 

“Her name was Sasha—”

 

 

“—I had to kill her.”

He had reached for the hand that was closest to him, brushing it lightly before he retreated back to his original posture. Feeling her hand come back around to his, he allowed their fingers to intertwine as they continued on their journey. She would tell him in her own time. 

 

“I’m not the same person who walked into that building that day, Phil.”

 

He stifled a sigh, speaking gingerly, “You can't undo what's been done; that will be with you forever. But trying hold to this life, clinging to the person you thought could be, that's hell. Even if you are different, you are still Melinda May, and nothing defines Melinda May more than you. Whoever you are now, you can make the most out of that person.”

 

“I don’t really have the choice to fall apart, do I?” She chuckled wryly, twisting the knob on the front door of the loft once he had unlocked it. 

 

She hadn’t smiled at either Jemma or Skye, only meeting the slim scientist’s eyes in a lukewarm manner as Amalie rushed at her and fell into her embrace. 

 

_It was all she could manage, she swore._

 

Suppressing a wince, she picked the child up and breathed in the soft scent of cherries in her hair, relishing in the warmth and the free weight that the girl was against her rattling chest. 

 

_ Somehow, someway, she had to make herself okay again. For Amalie, at the very least.  _

 

There would be a great vast wall to chip away at, to somehow make her back into a woman who could take care of Huining, but until then she just had to keep breathing. Keep trying. Keeping moving forward, even if she had to make herself a rock while she did it. She would live with the guilt and the pain and the rage for every day of her life if it meant that she would not let this little girl down. 

 

_ She would not let another little girl down.  _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to AO3 user the-eh-team :) Thank you so much for leaving such sweet comments and for continuing to read the weird things my brain comes up with!

Jemma had knocked on their door three days after May had returned, a thick file in hand and a tentative grin on her face.

 

The file contained all that S.H.I.E.L.D. had managed to find out about Amalie so far, she had mentioned, and seeing as all signs pointed to her having been experimented on, there was no way that Director Fury would authorise the child being sent into the foster system without them having to continually check in on her and shift her around for fear of Hydra getting their filthy paws on her again. 

 

For all intents and purposes, May and Coulson would be her legal guardians for the foreseeable future. 

 

May had accepted the file from her with both hands, wordlessly. A half smile, somewhat forced, had been granted to Jemma once she had received the file. 

 

A cup of tea later, Melinda finally broke the moderately comfortable silence between the two that Jemma had allowed to bloom.

 

“Tell her,” She murmured into her mug of green tea, “If you have more to say, tell her. Don’t take a chance on having more time being the way you are now.”

 

Her own mug had landed on the kitchen counter with somewhat of a thump, brown eyes flickering up to glance at May before they were quickly directed back to the liquid in her mug. One hand drifted up to the locket around her neck without her really noticing it, not until the cool weight of the metal had been removed from her sternum. 

 

Allowing a muted sigh to escape her lips, Jemma dropped the locket back where it had previously hung and wrapped both hands around her warm mug. 

 

Twin pairs of footsteps sounded down the hallway, one slower than the other, heavier. The lighter set quickened, sending the compact form of Amalie barrelling into Jemma, squealing brightly. 

 

“Jem!” Amalie tried to clamber onto the counter until Coulson stepped towards her and sleepily lifted her onto it, “Where’s Skye?”

 

Laughing softly, Jemma leaned forward too muss up the girl’s hair, “She’s training, at the Triskelion. Your mom and I need to head there too, in a jiffy.”

 

Coulson meandered over to the coffee machine, pouring himself a mugful. Turning around and leaning on the counter as he sipped at it, Phil regarded the sight of the three girls before him with a grin on his face. 

 

“I’m thinking of shipping this one off to train with her,” He uttered jokingly, “Maybe then she won’t pounce on me to wake me up too early.”

 

Both women got up from their seats, placing their mugs in the basin of the sink before Jemma shouldered her messenger bag, whispering a goodbye to Amalie and headed to the door. Phil brushed a hand across the small of Melinda’s back as she passed him, smiling warmly at her after she flinched momentarily before leaning back into the touch. 

 

Moving his hand from her back to her free hand, he squeezed it once before letting go. 

 

She went back over to the counter, placing a light kiss on the top of Amalie’s head and bidding her a soft goodbye. With that she had left the loft with Simmons, heading directly to S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters. 

 

Stepping through the elevator doors to where agents were milling about, a path parted for May like the Red Sea, topped off with whispers and the occasional squeal. Holding her head high and emotionless, she let the heels of her boots click severely on the tiled floor. Every step sent another whispering agent into stunned silence, or at least further away from her that she did not have to hear them talking.

 

Somewhere between the elevator and the doors that led to the tactical command centre, Natasha Romanoff fell into step with her.

 

“I trust you will work on combat on your own,” Each word that fell from her lips was equal parts measured and disciplined, “Interrogation techniques are a non-issue. Your biggest flaw is in working with a partner.”

 

Romanoff scoffed lightly, red lips curving into a grimace as she spoke dryly, “In the Red Room, there was never really much space for a partner.”

 

Pushing the door to the tactical command centre open, she allowed Natasha to step in first before she closed the door behind them both. 

 

“It is true, yes, that going in alone negates the risk of agents being used against each other,” May forced her voice to remain steady as she rationalised the issue to Natasha, “But most of the missions you will be sent of will require an array of skills. Your skill set, much like mine, is rather _specific_ , to say the least.”

 

“You seem to work perfectly fine on your own.”

 

“Working alone has its perks, but in S.H.I.E.L.D. it sets you up for unnecessary expectations and too much gossip,” May punched information into the screen before them, speaking less stiltedly at this point, “Bahrain would have ended better if I had gone in with my partner, perhaps. There wouldn’t be numbskulls calling me The Cavalry because I had to go in and diffuse a threat on my own.”

 

When the display had revealed a set of details on a new strike team in the making, Natasha had turned to face May and halted her typing with one hand over her deftly moving pair. 

 

“Who are you placing me with?” She spoke with a note of wariness in her voice, knowing better than most how the majority of agents in the agency viewed her. She was the Black Widow, after all. 

 

“Clinton “Hawkeye” Barton,” May stated, matter of fact, “You will be forming Strike Team Delta. His handler is my old partner, Phillip Coulson. The long range defence to your assault up close and personal. He also happens to be the one who brought you in.”

 

Romanoff slouched against the console, regarding Melinda quizzically.

 

“Are you my handler, then?” Her tone was aptly unimpressed, unamused even. 

 

May rolled her eyes, muttering blandly, “I’m your supervising officer. Fury refuses to accept my application for transfer to Administration, thinks that by keeping me in the field I’ll continue with the same effectiveness I always have. I train you and make sure you are on the right track while still handling my own share of missions. Handlers are generally no longer on the front line to be picked off for missions.”

 

The two of them walked out the room, May leading her towards a desk down the twisted hallways. 

 

“Well, what brings The Cavalry to my humble abode?” The sandy haired man with his feet propped up on a desk that bore the nameplate ‘Phillip Coulson’ smirked up at both women from his perch, “And she brought the little spider along with her as well. How delightful.”

 

Smacking him upside the head, _hard_ , Natasha spat her words out dangerously low, “Shut your flytrap, _болван_.”

 

“Clint Barton, this is your new partner, Natasha Romanoff,” May’s words were clipped, cold enough not to belie her frustration, “Get to know each other before your first mission as Strike Team Delta. Learn how you work together.”

 

Walking away from the two, she turned just enough to throw a final phrase over her shoulder, “Don’t kill each other. You’ve already had your chance and you missed it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ten minutes later found Melinda May in the gym of the Triskelion, hands halfheartedly wrapped, pummelling a punching bag within an inch of its life. Each heavy punch, uppercut and kick that landed on the bag rattled the chain that held it up, the hefty mass of it lurching at its restraints. 

 

That was exactly how Maria Hill had found her exactly forty seven punches later. Hill knew better than most, given her days spent training in hand to hand combat with the woman herself when May had been her S.O., how much it would hurt if she got in the way of one of those punches. 

 

So she walked — loudly enough, she ensured, for Melinda to notice even in the flurry of motion that was her taking out the punching bag — around to behind the punching bag, holding it steady while Melinda landed another solid roundhouse kick. 

 

The next assault that followed stopped just short of impacting on the punching bag, May’s hands falling limply to her sides as she placed both feet back on solid ground.

 

Maria released her grip on the punching bag, picking up the first aid kit that she had previously left on the floor behind Melinda. Taking May’s battered hands in her own, Hill took it upon herself to clean and bandage the bleeding knuckles once she had removed the reddened wrapping around them. 

 

“The door is locked with my command. Only Fury can override it,” Maria began, sitting down next to where May was still stoically standing, “Do you want to talk about what happened in Manama?”

 

May’s reply was quick, curt, “No.”

 

“What about telling me about how torturous it is having to play house with the biggest Captain America fanboy there is, then?” Pulling the hair elastic out of her immaculate bun, Maria let her hair fall around her shoulder in waves as she beckoned for May to join her on the floor. 

 

Cracking something akin to a smile, Melinda let herself fall to the ground easily, folding her legs into a lotus position as she began to talk, “He’s— well, he’s pretty good with her. She’s getting more comfortable with us, and it’s good that she’s found friends in both Simmons and Phil’s new trainee. Your niece is surprisingly pretty damn good with kids.”

 

“But she and Skye need to get their act together, right?” Maria followed up, exaggeratedly dramatic, “They’ve been dancing around each other since they met again when Jemma came to live with me.”

 

May smirked minutely, recalling the advice she had sullenly given Simmons that morning. 

 

“I’m trying to get myself as close to fine as I can be, in as short a time that I can manage,” Melinda cast her eyes down at her bandaged hands that sat folded in her lap, “There is no way I can risk hurting Amalie because I am haunted by whatever went on in that facility. I can’t put her through that.”

 

Hill shut the first aid kit that lay next to her firmly, turning back to face Melinda and placing her left hand on Melinda’s clasped hands.

 

“Your mother got better, didn’t she? You’ve been down that road before,” Maria moved from her seated position to kneel in front of Melinda as she continued to speak, “You will not let that happen to Amalie, not after you’ve seen how bad it can get from her position. You are stronger than you think, Melinda.”

 

At the sight of the two tears that were making their way down both of Melinda’s cheeks, Maria swiped the both of them away with her thumbs before she spoke again. 

 

“Every ounce of what I have that got me to where I am today, that came from you. You’re the one who taught me how to use every blow and every ache to make myself stronger,” Vehemently she made her case, trying desperately to get her former S.O. to realise the truth in what she was saying, “If anyone can take whatever it was that you saw or had to do inside there and use it to make themselves stronger, it’s Melinda May. Not The Cavalry, but Melinda Qiaolian May. She just needs to give herself a break sometimes.”

 

With that Maria got up from her knees, picking up the first aid kit while May got to her feet as well. She unlocked the gym’s door with her access code, striding back to her office while Melinda made her way towards the exit of the Triskelion. 

 

_She’d have to thank Romanoff for the tip off that May had needed to vent, that she would have headed to the gym to vent via her own bloodshed._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Phil turned the nightlight on and flicked the switch for the light overhead as Melinda tucked Amalie in, murmuring a soft “晚安 (wǎn ān)” against her forehead. 

 

Socked feet ambled back towards the bed, Phil brushing the girl’s hair back from her face as he bid her a goodnight. 

 

Just as they both turned to leave the room, Phil muttered softly, “Sweet dreams, angel eyes.”

 

The door shut silently behind them — she had told them that since May had returned from Bahrain, it was safe enough for her door to be shut all the way. Melinda stepped back towards her room, ready to shut off and lie in bed for yet another sleepless night filled with too much violet and the torment of pain and nightmares, but a hand caught her by the wrist and pulled her back. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today has been a really bad writers' block day, but I hope you guys enjoy what I did manage to get out in the end.

When May woke at five o’clock, she felt rested for the first time since she had returned. It took a while for the warmth to register as something out of the ordinary. Forcing herself not to make any sudden movements, she turned as gently as she could, careful not to jostle the arm around her. 

 

Once she’d turned, she realised she was facing the tee shirt clad torso of Phil Coulson. 

 

Her muscles tensed momentarily, the entirety of her frame freezing up before she remembered what had happened the previous night. 

 

* * *

 

_She had been headed towards her own room when a two fingers had encircled her wrist._

 

_Turning, her eyes met with the steely warmth of Phil’s eyes, a wordless question of invitation in them._

 

_“Just say the word, Mel,” He had assured her resolutely, “Say it and I’ll let you go.”_

 

* * *

 

The arm around her had held her closer as it felt her jostle, before Phil stirred and registered the movement consciously himself. 

 

“You alright, Mel?” Phil murmured groggily, the weight of his arm around her lightening as he lifted it slightly.

 

Melinda leaned back into the warmth around her, allowing her eyes to close as she replied, “Just fine, Phil. Go back to sleep.”

 

* * *

 

_All she did was nod her head ever so slightly — almost imperceptibly — and take the first few steps into the master bedroom, their joined hands pulling him along behind her._

 

_This dance was familiar, one they’d done before._

 

_Curl up together, whoever needed it more ended up being held._

 

_Somewhere between insomnia and falling asleep that person would fall apart._

 

* * *

 

Ignoring the stickiness on her cheeks Melinda fell back into a dreamless sleep, the arms around her doing enough to hold her together and to keep her mind quiet. 

 

The quiet in the loft was yet undisturbed. 

 

Amalie had awoken and walked out of her room to find the absence of Melinda in the living room, and had scurried into the master bedroom to wake Phil in fear that her return had been a dream. Seeing both her parents in the bed, she had tapped Melinda awake briefly and was lifted onto the bed as well. 

 

All three of them continued to sleep, unaware of the turning of the doorknob or the fact that the front door had open, let someone in, then shut. 

 

* * *

 

_Her shoulders shook as she let tears finally cascade down her face._

 

_His arms were warm as she held her fast._

 

_Melinda had learnt a long time ago to keep her tears to herself. There were no sounds, no shuddering hiccups or gasps for air. She knew how to take the red out of her eyes before it had even materialised._

 

_The one thing she had never been able to hold back was the shaking._

 

_He held her, and the shaking subsided, if only slightly._

 

* * *

 

Drawers were opened and shut, items withdrawn and set atop the counter in the most accessible way possible. The woman extracted a number of items from the refrigerator and cupboards as well as the bags that had previously been in her hands, switching the coffee machine on and setting out a teapot. 

 

Three mugs and a plastic tumbler came out of another cupboard, after some searching, and the gas for the stove was turned on before she set the fire alight. 

 

A large pot went on the flame, rice and water following soon after. A wok filled with oil was heated, long  paired sticks of rolled dough being dropped in and fished out in turn with ease once they puffed up satisfactorily. 

 

She’d nearly went to wake her daughter when she realised that they did not own a steamer, but Lian May knew how to improvise, to say the least. 

 

* * *

 

_His breathing had evened out, slowed. She could feel it against her back._

 

_Mumbling a soft apology to the silence that enveloped the two of them, she had tried to shut her stinging eyes and drift off._

 

_“I’m the one who’s sorry, Mel,” He quietly uttered as the tension left her body, “I wish I could do more.”_

 

* * *

 

“Mama,” A small voice cut through the haze that was sleep, Melinda’s consciousness immediately snapping to attention.

 

Casting her eyes down at the bundle of four year old and blankets in her arms, she brushed Amalie’s hair out of her eyes and spoke softly, mindful of the still sleeping form behind her, “What is it, Huining?”

 

“There’s someone here, Mama,” Amalie whispered, her eyes wide. 

 

Carefully manoeuvring herself such that she was untangled from the mess of limbs that was the bed, May beckoned for Amalie to remain silent and with Phil as she exited the room. Silently her feet carried her down the hallway, ears pricked for every sound that came from the kitchen. 

 

“Stand down, Qiaolian,” The crisp voice of Lian May carried over into the hallway, a note of knowing clearly present, “If there were an intruder you’d all be goners by now.”

 

Melinda dropped her fists back to her sides, entering the kitchen to face her mother, ambivalently commenting, “A phone call would have been nice, no?”

 

“Speak for yourself. ‘A phone call would have been nice’, indeed, Qiaolian,” Lian called out in a matter of fact manner, “It’s always either Maria or Phillip calling me.”

 

* * *

 

_“Have you called your mother since—”_

 

_“No.”_

 

_“She’s worried about you, you know?”_

 

_“She gets a play by play from either you or Hill anyways.”_

 

_“It’d be nice for her to hear from you.”_

 

_“My mother isn’t quite the sentimental sort, remember?”_

 

_“She could help you, though. She’s been down this road before.”_

 

_“We’ll see.”_

 

* * *

 

“Where’s that granddaughter of mine?” Lian May questioned, her eyes expectant as she looked around the loft. 

 

At Melinda’s brief pause, she spoke once more, “What, did you think I was just here to see you? Quickly, Qiaolian, I know a child who lives with you of all people would not sleep past eight o’clock each morning.”

 

Straightening from her slouched posture against the wall of the kitchen, Melinda made her way back to the master bedroom and collected Amalie from where she was already seated upright, changed out of her pyjamas. 

 

Grinning mischievously at the child, she whispered in her ear and rounded the bed to stand on the other side of Coulson before the both of them began to poke him mercilessly. 

 

Phil jolted upright from his slumber, his hands swatting at the pair doing the majority of the damage that had awoken him. 

 

“Oh, come on!” Phil exclaimed blearily, rubbing his eyes with one hand. 

 

“I’d thought you would want to know that my mother is here. From the looks of it she’s been here a couple of hours already.”

 

With that Melinda ushered their young charge out of the room and towards the living room. 

 

“Huining, this is your 外婆 (wài pó),” Pausing briefly to gauge Amalie’s response to this new introduction, Melinda turned back to her mother and continued, “Mother, this is Amalie Coulson.”

 

Lian May nudged her daughter towards the stove, handing her the ladle she had been using to stir the porridge as she gestured for Amalie to come closer, “過來 (guò lái), come here. I want to take a look at you.”

 

She fussed over the girl, tutting and occasionally throwing remarks out like ‘too skinny’, or ‘Qiaolian, are you even feeding the poor girl?’. Melinda had stepped in and placed the girl in her seat atop one of the barstools at the kitchen counter as her mother had continued to alternate between snippy remarks and marvelling over the girl. Setting the table, May placed the pot of porridge in the centre with the condiments on one side of it and the _youtiao_ on its other side. 

 

“Mother, what’s in the other pot?” Melinda queried, pointing towards the last pot on the stove. 

 

“ _Hargao_ and _siewmai._ ” Lian May stated, “You do not have a steamer but the former has always been your favourite and Phillip likes _siewmai_ , so I had to improvise.”

 

“謝謝 _，媽媽_ (xiè xiè, mā mā) _。_ ”

 

Lian May sat herself down next to Amalie as Melinda went to remove the food from the improvised steamer, placing it atop the last coaster. As May set the plate on the table, Phil appeared in the hallway, pouring a cup of coffee for himself as he looked to Lian for directions for her drink. 

 

She smiled inwardly at the practiced routine that seemed to exist throughout their interactions as Phil and Melinda walked around each other, each handling a separate part of their morning, “There is a tin of _pu’er_ in the cupboard where you keep your coffee beans.” 

 

* * *

 

_“Did Jemma tell you the news?”_

 

_“She told Skye to tell me when I saw her.”_

 

_“This is more or less permanent, then?”_

 

_“Do you mind?”_

 

_“Do you?”_

 

_“Not if you don’t.”_

 

_“Good.”_

 

* * *

 

Lian May stood from her seat, giving her granddaughter a brief hug before she left. 

 

“Here’s my address and phone number, Huining,” She remarked, half joking, as she handed the child a card, “Just in case you ever need to escape these two crazies.”

 

The child thanked her, imploring her grandmother to come visit sometime soon. 

 

All Lian said in reply to that was: “Get your mother to call me, and then we’ll arrange something.”

 

As Melinda walked her to the door, she placed a hand on her daughter’s upper arm for a brief moment before she left the loft, forcing Melinda to look her in the eyes. 

 

“You are doing a good job, Qiaolian,” She told her lowly, “If you ever feel up to talking, call me. My cell phone will always be available for a call from you. Not so much for classified numbers.”

 

“Good day, Mama. Thank you for today.”


	8. Chapter 8

  
Children ran amok around the playground. All around them were feet thundering about, screams and squeals piercing through the peppering of giggles that filled the air. Skye and Jemma had convinced them to take Amalie there, promising to watch her as she played. Really, they were just caught up in one another while still keeping an eye on the girl darting around. 

 

May had at first opted to take her place nearer to the playground apparatus, keeping watching on all three girls. 

 

Coming over to stand behind her, Phil had assured her that the two teenagers (because really, that was what they were, no matter what S.H.I.E.L.D. made everyone believe) were more than capable of keeping Amalie safe in close range. 

 

She had acquiesced, following him over to an empty bench. Close enough, she figured. Phil sat down next to her, pulling the lapels of his coat together against the autumn wind. 

 

Their hands lay side by side. With each rare spoken word in their conversation, and each carefree laugh that came from either one of the three girls, their hands inched closer to one another. Melinda lay her hand over his, finally, curling her fingers around his before feeling him turn his hand over to lace their fingers together. 

 

Turning to face her slightly, the crinkles around his eyes belied the smile he tried to suppress. 

 

Sitting there, they leaned against one another, shoulders bumping as the past decade or so ran through each of their minds. They had been through nearly everything together, and goodness knew that the worst things happened when they were apart. 

 

Bahrain was proof enough of that. 

 

“Can we talk about it?” She broached first, her eyes cast downwards, away from meeting his. 

 

“Bahrain?” Phil ventured, his own flickering over the fading circles beneath her eyes, “Sure, if you’re comfortable with talking about it.”

 

“I have to—”

 

“—You deserve to know.”

 

Brushing his thumb over her hand in slow circles, he turned to face her as she hesitated. 

 

“In there,” Melinda began, “When I was in there, all I could think was that I needed to get out of there alive no matter what because I couldn’t leave you both behind.”

 

“You did.”

 

“But to do that I had to kill the girl. I looked into her eyes and for the longest time all I could see was Amalie. The same haunted innocence, the childlike wonder tempered with having seen and been through things they shouldn’t have been put through,” Her voice cracked as she mentioned their daughter, who was just a little ways away hanging upside down on monkey bars, “The dreams I have at night, so much of it is about the mission either going awry or of Amalie being the one getting hurt.”

 

“She’s safe. You are making sure of that, every single day.”

 

She shifted in her seat, averting her gaze from his eyes to the children around them as she spoke, warily this time, “I was afraid — still am, sometimes — that I would hurt her. That I came back from Bahrain broken inside and until I put myself back together there will always be the danger of me hurting her.”

 

“You aren’t your mother, Mel,” He pleaded, “The very fact that you are aware and that you fear becoming someone that could pose a danger to Amalie is proof enough that you are not a danger to her.”

 

“Phil, you need to promise me something,” She vehemently asserted, “You need to promise me that the moment I even seem to be slightly dangerous to her or to you, you send me direct to Maria to be put through reconditioning because I will never be able to live with myself if I hurt either one of you.”

 

“Fear proves that you care, Mel,” He reasoned, “But I will. I promise.”

 

Her tense shoulders dropped, the frigidity borne of the torture in her mind escaping somewhat.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Always. You’ve always had my back, this is just me returning the favour.”

 

Both their heads had snapped towards the direction from which they had heard the unmistakable sound of one of the girls squealing. 

 

Somehow (Melinda was not really all that sure if she wanted to know how exactly), Skye and Amalie had gotten Jemma to assume the same position that Amalie had been in the last time they had looked over. Amalie sat atop the monkey bars, smugly smirking at the pale doctor as her eyes widened comically in panicked alarm at being strung upside down by only her knees. 

 

Skye was doubled over in front of her, guffaws wracking her entire frame as Jemma’s arms flailed around trying to find a grip to pull herself back upright by. 

 

“Do you kids need help?” Phil had hollered over, catching Jemma’s eye as she switched her tactics over to trying to swat at Skye. 

 

Skye had taken a break from laughing at her girlfriend’s predicament to shout an answer back at Coulson, “Nah it’s alright. We’re good!”

 

“I have to admit,” Melinda murmured as she brushed her hair back with one hand and readjusted the beanie she wore, “It’s nice to see them acting like teenagers for once. Neither of them has had the most normal of childhoods, to say the least.”

 

Phil nodded, reaching his free hand up to tug a small section of her hair free from the confines of her hat.

 

Just as she was about to smack his hand away, a woman with burgundy hair in soft, long curls falling around her shoulders approached them, the wrinkles around her eyes as prominent as the deeply etched smile lines in her face. 

 

“You have a beautiful family,” She remarked as she passed them, “Two such pretty daughters, and the older one’s girl seems so sweet. They get on splendidly, even. Reminds me of when I was a younger girl.”

 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Coulson replied, as May’s eyes wandered back to the three girls, “Have a good day.”

 

Melinda nudged him, prompting him to turn to witness their girls’ interactions. 

 

Amalie was reassuring Jemma, telling her that they’d get her down soon and that there really wasn’t anything to be worried about. Jemma, on the other hand, was going on about gravitational pull and how the force that would be generated if she were to fall to the ground would likely be enough to do substantial damage to her skull and brain. 

 

“Come on, J,” Skye had coaxed, a hand on Jemma’s shoulder, “Trust fall. I’ll catch you, I swear.”  


“You’d better, Mary Sue Poots,” Her accent bit out, nearly eliciting a giggle from Skye before the girl had narrowed her eyes at the long ago forsaken name. 

 

“Call me that again and I swear I’ll drop you on your head, Simmons.”

 

Amalie helped Skye pry Jemma’s legs off of the frame of the monkey bars, the slim teenager falling into the waiting arms in a heap of panicked yelps. 

 

“I’ve got you, Jemma,” Skye murmured, setting a soft kiss on her lips before setting her feet back on the ground. 

 

“Ew.” 

 

“Shut it, Amy.”

 

“Come on, Skye, be nice,” Jemma chided, lifting the younger girl off the monkey bars and placing her back on the ground. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They had put Amalie to bed, a warm darkness settling over the loft as the main source of noise had quietened down for the night. 

 

Phil guided Melinda out to the living room once more, twisting the knob mounted on the wall to dim the lights slightly and walking over to the record player to put on music. As La Vie En Rose began to stream through the bell of the gramophone in the corner of the room, Phil offered his hand to Melinda. 

 

“Can I have this dance?”

 

“You can—” She began, nudging the toes on one of her feet into the carpet, “But the question here is if you may.”

 

Phil chuckled throatily, stepping closer to his partner as he amended his earlier question, “ _May_ I have this dance, then?”

 

“Of course. If you haven’t forgotten most of our dance elective at the academy, that is,” She replied, settling her hand in the one he proffered. 

 

“Says the one who dropped it after what,” He jibed good-naturedly, “Two weeks?”

 

“I’ll have you know, Phillip,” She threw back as he spun her out and then back into his embrace, “I’ve been dancing all my life. Good for one’s balance, after all.”

 

The two of them stood in each other’s arms, their eyes meeting and the air between them stilling. 

 

“You sure about this?” Phil intoned as his eyes flickered between her lips and her eyes.

 

“I trust you with this,” She murmured, closing the gap between them, “Just you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for this story, folks:) Thank you for sticking out this journey with me. If y'all are interested in reading more (about anything in this universe, really) just drop me a comment! I'll be exploring other fic possibilities so I'll try to post other work soon. I hope this has been an enjoyable read for you all!


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